The business opportunity of a lifetime!
by Continued
Summary: Ever had one of those days?
1. Snake Surprise

**Snake Surprise**

Dawn was breaking over the barrens of Kalimdor. The herds of kodos were beginning to start the days grazing, the birds were coming out from their nests to welcome the suns appearance with song, and somewhere in the vast stretches of plains a rogue named Varley was emerging groggily from a brown sack, wondering vaguely where he was and exactly how he had gotten there. He pulled himself free of the sack, noted with a passing curiosity that everything he had been carrying with the exception of his clothes had been taken from him and groaned. It was going to be another one of those days. But how had he ended up in this position? He certainly didn't remember throwing away all his items and going to sleep in a sack in the middle of nowhere. Had he been on another bar crawl? Furrowing his brow with the effort, he mentally retraced his steps of the past few days.

He'd arrived in Kalimdor after hearing rumours of an immensely skilled elven chef who lived in the forests of Ashenvale. He'd been looking for employment as a cook in several inns around Azeroth, but he was always turned away. With the training he'd receive from the master though, he thought smugly, every innkeeper would be begging him to work their kitchens, instead of their usual bizarre requests to hunt down monsters, gather their various body parts and return them. Sometimes he wondered if someone had tattooed "Monster exterminator! No monster too big, grotesque or deadly!" on his forehead while he was asleep.

He soon found the chef he'd heard so much about, and she took him on as an apprentice despite a rocky start between the two. She was rather highly-strung, and had banned him from making dramatic, pyrotechnic laden "heroic" entrances within moments of agreeing to teach him, much to his dismay.

Still, he thought, that didn't explain why he was here in the middle of the barrens. He reached up to rub his forehead in contemplation, only to discover to his surprise that there was a note stuck to him. He peeled it off and read it eagerly.

"_Dear Person whose name I haven't bothered to learn yet._

_I've decided to test your skills by taking all your equipment, knocking you out and leaving you in the middle of the Barrens for dead. You have until the end of the day to create a new recipe and return to the inn and give it to me. If you fail, I'll never teach you how to become a proper gourmet chef._

_Kind regards,_

_Your Master_."

"Oh man! Make a dish of my own? That could take hours! Hours that busy modern rogues like me don't have, what with my go-go sleeping in sacks lifestyle." he complained loudly. "No, the solution to my problem lies with some sort of scheme, preferably a zany one if the plays I've seen in Stormwind are any indication. But what? Think Varley, think!" He pondered the situation, staring blankly at the area around him. His face lit up as he noticed a signpost labelled "Crossroads" pointing in the distance, a plan beginning to formulate in his mind.

"I know! I'll go get a recipe from the Orcs, claim I invented it and rake in the glorious profits! Varley you handsome devil, you've done it again!" he congratulated himself. "But if I know my history lessons, those Orcs won't just hand over their cookbooks. No, I need a cunning disguise, something to allow me to blend in with the Orcs seamlessly… Man, it's a good thing I've seen so many plays! I know just the thing!"

And with that he set off towards the Crossroads, whistling to himself merrily.

It was another typical day at the Crossroads for the two orc guards posted at the entrance, the sun beating down on them as they talked between themselves.

"Did you happen to observe that fabulous performance by the Crossroad Theatrical Society last night? I had tears in my eyes by the end of it!" said the guard Zurgzug to his compatriot Mogrash.

"Oh yes, it was an enthralling piece! I'm not certain I understood all of the deep philosophical subtext though." replied Mogrash.

"Ah, then allow me to enlighten you my good sir! Killrog the destroyer believed that the spirit and the body were- I say, can you hear that noise?" said Zurgzug, as he noticed a small but rapidly approaching figure on the horizon, which as it grew closer revealed itself to be a human holding a large axe, charging towards the city while screaming a bestial war cry. Zurgzug waited until the lone raider was almost upon him before lightly stepping to the side and holding out his leg, tripping the attacker and sending him sprawling on the floor.

"Uh… Can I help you?" He asked as the man got up, coughing out a mouthful of dust.

Varley got to his feet, and squinted at the two Orc guards who were eyeing him with equal amounts of confusion and annoyance. Things were not going according to his plan; the Orcs should have recognised their traditional greeting and let him enter the city unharmed. These must be especially rural orcs, untrained in even the simplest of etiquette he mused. Nevertheless, the plan must continue if he was to have any hope of becoming a master chef.

"Rargh! I'm a bloodthirsty orc! Death to all humans I say!" he said to the orc who had tripped him up. "But before that, where do you orcs keep your recipes? I, uh, need to burn them, in accordance with our savage culture and hatred for all things involving reading."

The orc looked confused, and Varley sighed inwardly. He should have known better to use words with more then one syllable. He decided to try a different approach.

"Listen, either you teach me how to make a delicious home cooked meal, or I'll beat the instructions out of you! Do we have a deal?"

Varley came too several hours later in a rubbish dump on the outskirts of the Crossroads, very much the worse for wear. Rubbing his bruised head gingerly, he sat up, noticed low the sun was in the sky, and sighed in dismay. He had only a few more hours to come up with something that resembled a meal, and his brilliant plan had come to nothing. Curse those orcs and their uncivilised ways! It was painfully obvious they'd never seen a play where a bold adventurer battled bloodthirsty orcs in their lives. Now it looked like he'd have to make something that was vaguely edible with the very limited tools at hand.

"Let's see… I'll need some sort of meat product… Ah! Those venomous looking snakes over there should be perfect!"

He soon stumbled back, holding a live snake by the tail and bleeding slightly from several wounds.

"Okay, note to self, never make live venomous snakes the basis of a dish ever again… Now I'll need some sort of container to serve this in."

After scavenging an old tin from the rubbish dump and cramming one very angry live snake inside it, he set off back in the direction of Ashenvale and his master, hoping desperately that he'd make it there in time.

He burst into the kitchen just five minutes before midnight, much to the shock of his master who was slicing some fish in preparation for the next day's menu. She jumped up with surprise when he kicked open the door dramatically, the knife she was using flying from her hands and twirling majestically through the air before embedding itself with a dull _thunk_ in the floorboards, only inches away from Varley's left foot.

"Master! I've completed your task! Behold, the culinary sensation that's about to sweep Azeroth, the Varley Snake Surprise!" He proclaimed, as he handed the tin – which he now noticed still had its old label of "Nuts" printed on the front- containing the snake to his teacher, pausing slightly as he saw the knife stuck so near to his foot. He'd always wondered why his master was so highly-strung.


	2. Treasure Trouble

**Treasure Troubles**

"Pheuern old pal! How can I interest you in the business opportunity of a lifetime?" exclaimed Varley, glancing across the table at his companion who was somehow managing to appear bored, tired and angry all at once. It was very late at night, and they were the only two patrons in the inn who had not yet stumbled upstairs or home to sleep. The only light came from the fire still burning brightly in the hearth place, illuminating Pheuern's less then enthusiastic face. Whenever Varley ended a sentence with "Of a lifetime!" it usually meant trouble.

"Varley" He said, stifling a yawn. "Please don't tell me you broke into my room, nearly set me alight with the fireworks you used for your "dramatic" entrance and demanded I come to an inn at two in the morning so you could tell me about your latest pyramid scheme."

"Don't worry! This time the scheme is question is completely legitimate, and won't end in a short trip to the stockades. Behold, our ticket to fabulous riches!" he said, pulling out a piece of parchment and laying it on the table with a flourish.

Pheuern picked it up and examined it closely. Apart from a same empty space at the top labelled "Traysure map" it was a complete jumble of seemingly random squiggles, lines and giant red X's. He put it down again, and glanced at Varley who was looking at him expectantly.

"Varley… Where exactly did you get this map?"

"A shady man at the bar sold it to me for the low, low price of ten gold not an hour ago! I was going to spend the money on food, but hey, this is an investment, right?"

Pheuern let out a long suffering sigh.

"You do remember what happened with the last thing you brought from a shady man in a bar, right?"

"Remember? Who could forget! That Eau Du Murloc was the latest in cutting edge design when it came to cologne! It had women falling at my feet! Of course, he neglected to mention the part about them collapsing due to the concentrated smell of a thousand Murlocs, but technically it worked!"

"I'm almost sure a proper treasure map wouldn't have "Treasure map" misspelt on the front, and would be written on something other then what appears to be a napkin."

Varley smiled condescendingly, and shook his head in mock disbelief.

"Poor Pheuern. It's painfully obvious you know nothing about piratetology. Everyone knows that pirates are notoriously bad spellers, and have an insatiable lust for table napkins."

Pheuern groaned inwardly. He had to find some way to talk his way out of this latest zany scheme of Varley's, and it was obvious that logic wasn't going to do the trick. He decided to try a different tact.

"Why do you even need me to come though? Wouldn't we have to split the no doubt glorious treasure between the two of us, resulting in you getting less?"

"Well… Yes, normally I would set out on my own in search of it, but seeming as how this is ancient pirate treasure, there are some complications, and I need a man of your skills and ingenuity to help out."

"What sort of complications?" asked Pheuern. "Will you need a curse broken? An ancient inscription deciphered?"

"Uh… nothing as exotic as that." replied Varley, suddenly looking slightly embarrassed. "You see, if popular stereotypes are to be believed, pirate treasure is normally buried underground, and uh, I need someone to dig it up for me."

Pheuern stared at Varley in disbelief.

"So you want me to come along so I can dig a ditch for you? That's why you woke me up? I have to go to a guild meeting early next morning! Why can't you do it yourself?"

"Well, I think I'm more suited to an administrative role. You know, making the tough calls, rubbing my chin thoughtfully and staring into the distance, yelling out slogans to cheer you on, that sort of thing. I could never do any sort of hard, thankless, backbreaking underpaid labour, it'd be murder on my poor hands!"

"Forget it Varley" said Pheuern, getting up from the table and heading towards the door. "I'm afraid I can't make room in my busy schedule for digging holes in the ground in search for a treasure which may or may not exist with a dirty napkin as our only guide. I'll see you later."

And with that he walked out of the door, leaving Varley with only his "Traysure map" for company. Varley sighed, picked up the map and began studying it again. It looked like it was hard labour for him after all.

A few weeks later Pheuern was spending an evening at home happily studying some ancient texts, when someone began rapping at his door. He hurried over and opened it, only to find a very ragged looking Varley on his doorstep. He was covered in dirt and vines, and smelt like he'd spent more then a few days hacking his way through a jungle.

"Pheuern!" he said, beaming happily despite his appearance. "Can I interest you in the investment opportunity of a lifetime, a fabulous treasure map? It's guaranteed to triple in value over the next few years!"

Pheuern took one look at him, before shutting the door in his face.

"How about a second hand slightly used napkin then?" came a muffled voice from the other side of the door as he bolted it and walked upstairs to resume studying his books, humming a small tune to drown out the business deals and slogans that were still coming from behind his door.


	3. Potion panic

**Potion Panic!**

It was another exciting day at the racetrack on the shimmering flats of Thousand Needles. The crowds were cheering, the bookmakers were raking in the gold, the rocket cars were crashing spectacularly, and somewhere amongst the throngs of people crowding the side of the track Varley was sighing in despair. The raceway was not living up to his expectations generated by its advertisements that were littering the streets of Stormwind, which showed a lot in the way of beautiful women whose love of rocket cars was matched only by their passion for revealing clothes, but neglected to depict even a single angry goblin loanshark or their hired muscle ogre bodyguards.

Before him stood one such goblin, though the casual observer might have mistaken him for a small mobile armoury instead. His tiny body was completely laden down with all manner of disproportionately sized axes, swords, various guns and explosives and bandoliers filled with large thorium slugs. Indeed, were it not for the greedy eyes glaring at him from under a nest of daggers which were inexplicably taped to his head and the large nametag from the Goblin Legitimate Loan Agency that read "Hi! My name is Fixxle! Ask about our amazing new soul mortgage offers!" stuck to one of the outsized explosives on his chest Varley might of thought he was some sort of new gnomish walking battle tank himself.

Fixxle's ogre companion was lightly equipped by comparison (Though, Varley mused, the entire army of Stormwind would be lightly equipped compared to the goblin personification of war in front of him), only armed with the traditional ogre weapon of a large stick with a nail in it. But then again, when you're strong enough to do cool party tricks like bending steel bars into the shape of animals and crushing dice with your bare hands, you don't need much more then a piece of wood to look intimidating. A glazed, faraway expression on both of the ogres two heads completed the "Big, strong and stupid" stereotype. Either this ogre was secretly deciphering the mysteries of the universe or it was taking all the combined brainpower it could muster just to remember to keep breathing.

"Varley" Fixxle began, his voice somehow both squeaky and menacing at the same time. "You withdrew a loan of one hundred gold pieces from the Goblin Legitimate Loan Agency, correct?"

Varley sighed. He had hastily taken a loan, but the race he was betting on seemed like a sure thing! How could a car fashioned entirely from explosives not win? He blamed those sneaky gnomes for sabotaging the noble goblin race car, leaving him with no winnings and an awful debt to a company that made it necessary for a special broken kneecap ward to be opened in the Gadgetzan hospital. Still, there was a slim chance that he still might be able to talk himself out of this situation.

"Uh, yes I did, but in a way, don't we all owe the goblin society a debt for all the great works they've done for us?"

Fixxle narrowed his eyes. He had a temper shorter then a legless dwarf, and the heat of the desert was not helping.

"Everyone's debts to the goblins not withstanding, its time for you to return the money you borrowed. If you find yourself unable to pay us back…" Fixxle grinned, and indicated to his drooling companion. "My friend Smashur here will be happy to discuss alternative payment methods with you. We also accept all major organs, as well as souls." Fixxle finished, tapping the tag on his chest proudly.

"Smashur? Wow, how authentic, how do they come up with these names?" Muttered Varley, before raising his voice. "Uh, I don't want to sound greedy, but I'd like to keep both of my kidneys for the time being. Now, I do have the gold to pay you, but uh… I… left it out in the middle of the desert for safekeeping! Yes, that sounds plausible! Tell you what, I'll meet you back here in an hour or so, and happily pay you! How does that sound?"

Fixxle rubbed his chin, almost losing several fingers on the blades attached to it.

"Very well!" He squeaked. "But I warn you human, if you're not back here on the hour exactly, you'll find out just why they call them a-point-ments."

For a moment, time seemed to slow down as the universe struggled to process the sheer terribleness of the goblins joke, only the sounds of crickets chirping in the background breaking the embarrassing silence. Varley blinked as a tumbleweed slowly bounced between them.

"Uh, okay then... I uh, guess I'll see you soon then." He said, slowly backing away from the two.

Fixxle watched the human disappear into the distance, before turning to face his companion, who was eyeing at him with pity.

"Hey, they can't all be classics!" He said angrily, and sat down to await Varley's return, almost setting off several of his bombs in the process.

Varley ran a hand through his hair nervously. Not surprisingly, he had no hidden cache of gold in the desert, and escape was not an option. The Goblin Legitimate Loan Agency always got their man in the end, usually in uncomfortable and painful ways that would make a dreadlord blush. No, what he needed was a genius plan, something that could make him one hundred gold in an hour.

"Think Varley, think!" He said to himself. "You'll need to come up with the mother of all zany schemes to pull this one off…"

His thoughts occupied with the mental image of being mounted on the wall above a goblin's fireplace rather then where he was going, Varley neglected to pay attention to his surroundings and walked right in to a bin containing all of the empty bottles of the various drink products consumed by the raceway patrons.

"Ow! Lousy bottles…" He cursed, as they spilt around him and he lay dazed in the sand. "Wait a minute! This gives me an idea! I'll be temporarily debt free in no time!" Chuckling happily to himself, he collected up the discarded bottles, and set off to find a prime location near the crowds at the raceway.

"Step right up folks, and witness a new dynasty in potion making excellence!" Cried Varley. He was sitting behind an old wooden box, a hastily made sign reading "Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potions!" to one side, a crate filled with bottles on the other. The people scattered around the stands waiting for the next race looked at him curiously, and some even began to crowd around. After all, it wasn't every day that you got to witness a new dynasty in potion making excellence.

"Hi, I'm Varley, professional gambler, CEO of Varley Industries and all around lovable rogue, and I'm here today to talk to you about Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potions! When you want a smooth, refreshing, semi-alcoholic beverage, you want a Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potion" Varley said, beaming happily at the assorted throng gathering around his box.

"I'm a busy guy, so when I'm suffering from repeated stab wounds, mass blunt trauma to the head and the flaming magic death that's all too common in everyday life, I need to have confidence that my healing potions will work first time, every time. So whenever I'm at the brink of death, I put my faith in a product I trust, Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potions"

Some members of the crowd began to mutter amongst themselves. There was a lot of death around these days. Why, you couldn't even talk a walk through the woods without being assaulted by all manner of crazed wildlife bent on your destruction. Varley smiled, and pulled out a largely indecipherable chart, covered in a random assortment of letters and numbers, and pie charts.

"As you can see from this scientific nutrition and ingredients chart, not only do Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potions taste good, they have everything growing children need, making them the ideal supplement for any diet!" He proclaimed, hurriedly putting away the chart before any awkward questions like "What does that say?" could be asked.

The crowd had almost doubled in size, and Varley's smile widened even more, before he launched into his next fiery promotion.

"Now, for all you ladies out there, Varley Industries realises that the only thing worse then bleeding to death from a gaping hole where your stomach used to be is gaining weight and not being able to fit in the latest in cutting edge revealing armour fashion! That's why Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potions are all 100 fat free!" Proudly stated Varley, before lowering his voice and quickly adding "Note: potions may or may not be comprised entirely of water. Any healing effects purely coincidental. Consult your priest, druid or paladin before consumption."

"Now, you may not be able to put a price on good health, but we here at Varley Industries sure can! I'm selling these amazing inventions for the low, low price of only ten gold a bottle! Hurry, while stocks last!" Said Varley, before being swamped by a wave of customers desperately throwing money at him. He grinned, and started selling his wares.

"So… Lovely weather we've been having lately." Said Fixxle to Smashur, who just stared at him blankly. Fixxle sighed. "Well, this is grand. Who would have thought waiting in the middle of the desert with nothing but an ogre with a single digit IQ who can only understand his name and ends up destroying everything in sight when someone calls him would be so boring. When we get back to headquarters I'm going to have a word to those paper-pushers. "Go to the desert Fixxle!" they said. "The sun will be good for you!" they said. "Argh, whenever you come close your weapons cut up my desk and my body!" They said. Bah!"

Smashur greeted this furious tirade with his signature slack jawed stare, and Fixxle gave up, and glanced at his clockwork pocket watch instead. Time was running out for Varley he saw, and smiled happily before sitting down to purposely sharpen some of the blades that coated him. He'd not even gotten through a quarter of them before he saw a certain rogue running towards the two at a high speed though, ruining his short lived good mood entirely.

Varley stumbled up to them, breathing heavily and glancing over his shoulder.

"Well, do you have it?" Asked Fixxle irritably

"Oh yes, it's all here!" Said Varley, taking out a sack filled with gold and tossing it at the goblin, relishing the look of surprise on his face. "What, you didn't think I was lying to you, did you?"

Fixxle gritted his pointy teeth in anger, as he counted the coins. Upon seeing it was all there, he sighed unhappily. It looked like he'd have to find some other way to work through his anger at his desert post.

"Very well. I hereby release you from your debt to the Goblin Legitimate Loan Agency" he muttered grudgingly.

"Hurrah!" Cheered Varley. Now he could continue on his travels without having to worry about a walking pile of weapons and a surly ogre stalking his very moves. His joy was short-lived though, as at that moment a large and angry looking mob arrived on the scene.

"Hey! You!" Their leader said, pointing at Varley.

"Uh oh…" Sighed Varley.

"My friend tried one of your potions, and he turned green and passed out! I want a refund!" Yelled the leader, over the voices of the other members of the group who were also passionately demanding their money back.

"Uh, yeah…" Said Varley, scratching his head. "You see, the chances of a reaction similar to that is only one in six, and uh… I'm sure these fine representatives of my company will be happy to field all your claims." He said, pointing to a very confused looking Fixxle and Smashur. "I need to be off to a high powered board meeting, goodbye!"

And with that he made his daring escape, fleeing across the burning salt flats faster then any rocket car as the angry mob started ranting at Fixxle and Smashur, smiling as the distant sounds of the fiery debate reached his ears. Sure, eventually he'd come to regret putting his name on the potion bottles, and he'd have to do some fast talking in the days to come. But for now there was only the exhilaration of a daring escape, and the end of another epic adventure, and that was what Varley lived for most of all.

Later–much later- Fixxle and Smashur were sitting at the Goblin Legitimate Loan Agency headquarters, being chewed out by their boss, a cigar chomping, suspender wearing, file-on-desk-slamming stereotypical goblin chief.

"More dead bodies then the undercity? Multiple law suits from family members of the deceased that are bigger then my ex-wife? Claims that you're secretly double agents working for some sort of company called Varley Industries? I've had it with your renegade ways Fixxle! You're a lose cannon!"

Fixxle squirmed uncomfortably, his blades sawing through his chair and making it collapse, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor.

"But boss, I-"

"I don't want to hear it Fixxle! And the repair bills from all the furniture you ruin is through the roof! And you're clearly a bad influence on Smashur, look how surly he is!"

They both paused and looked at the placid Smashur, who was absently chewing on a pencil with one of his mouths. Fixxle's boss chomped on his cigar, and turned to face him again.

"For your punishment, I'm putting you on paper work duties for the next three months. That should hopefully at least cut down on the number of people you kill."

Fixxle thought of three whole months of doing nothing but filling out forms, and narrowed his eyes before muttering "Oh, I don't know about that."

"Get out of my sight Fixxle" Said his boss, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

Fixxle slowly got up and exited the room, his anger almost visibly seething into the room around him, his thoughts filled only with imaginative plans of how he would get his revenge on the rogue who had caused so much trouble.

"In three months time…" He remarked ominously to Smashur who had left the room with him. "I'm going to hunt down that rogue, and I'll have my revenge…"

Smashur sighed. It looked as though as long as Fixxle was his partner, he'd be spending an awful lot of time filling out paperwork.

"In three months time…" He remarked ominously to Smashur, who had left the room with him. "I'm going to hunt down that rogue, and I'll have my revenge…"

Smashur sighed. It looked as though as long as Fixxle was his partner, he'd be spending an awful lot of time filling out paperwork.


	4. Bellygrub's Ballad

**The Ballad of Bellygrub**

Gather ye round, patrons of the arts, and I will tell the story,  
Of a beast named Bellygrub, his reign both long and gory.

He terrorised the denizens of humble Lakeshire tower,  
Defiling their poor flowerbeds with his unholy power.

A band of bold heroes came forth to right this terrible wrong.  
Their capes were flowing, their blades were glowing, with righteous justice, strong.

In the lead strode Varley, a hero brave and true.  
He'd have the fame he dearly craved before this tale was through

Next in line was Miss Justice, the parties level head.  
Who always replied to Varleys plans with "Yes, but then we'd be dead".

Finally came Pheuern, a mage of arcane skill.  
Though he seemed the bookish type, he also liked to kill.

They wandered the land for many days, searching far and wide,  
For the site of Bellygrub's lair, so that they might claim his hide.

Finally one fateful night, Varley stumbled to the campfire,  
He said he'd sighted Bellygrub, and spun a tale most dire.

"His eyes!" he cries, "Will terrify! They burned into my soul!"  
"His head!" he said, "Filled me with dread! Twas' not one but tenfold!"

"A demon then!" His companions cried. "We must see this firsthand!"  
And so they left, and soon came back, with expressions rather bland.

"You saw him?" exclaimed Varley, "His body, grotesque and big?"  
"Varley" they replied, bemused, "This "beast" is but a pig!"

And so they ate roast boar that night, the evil had been cleansed.  
And Varley? He was greatly mocked, and made fun of by his friends.


End file.
